You all can read extra chapters on [email protected]/annihilator009

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It's worth remembering that this is a world where DC and Marvel coexist. Naturally, that means the Arctic we're currently traveling through is at least twice the size of the one I once knew. You can imagine the difficulty of navigating and searching in such a vast, frozen wilderness.

Thankfully, I'm no ordinary person. I have something better than a map or a beacon—I have intuition, and in this situation, it's the only compass I trust. Right now, we're traveling at full throttle, steering the all-terrain vehicle between towering ridges of glacial ice, carving through the white horizon toward wherever my instincts lead us.

"Beautiful…"

"It's wonderful," Bordeaux said beside me, her voice calm but full of awe.

The Arctic sky above shimmered in magnificent colors—ribbons of cold flame dancing in hues of green, crimson, and violet. Stars peeked through like scattered gemstones caught behind translucent silk. The northern lights were in full bloom tonight. The aurora twisted across the heavens like a slow-moving river, lit by sunset fire. I had always secretly dreamed of seeing this, and now that I was, it felt surreal. One of those quiet checkboxes on the soul's list—fulfilled.

Eight days had passed since we first set foot in this frigid desert of ice and silence. I felt, somewhere deep inside me, that our goal was close—closer than ever. So much has happened since we arrived. We'd met the unlikely inhabitants of this place: curious seals that swam up to examine us, fluffy white polar bears that observed us from a distance with regal mistrust, and tiny lemmings darting over snowdrifts like puzzle pieces in motion.

Even strangers were other creatures—birds and beasts I couldn't quite classify or name. Mythical might not be the wrong word. Where most see lifeless wasteland, I see a world rich in quiet survival. Life finds a way, even here, shrouded in deep cold.

Another, more personal development occurred as well. Bordeaux and I—our dynamic shifted. Something subtle, intimate, and warm began seeping between us like the heat from the tiny stove inside our tent. We'd been sharing one sleeping tent every night of the trip. Truthfully, I could've pulled out another from my bottomless storage—one of those sci-fi contraptions that fold and inflate on command. But instead, I employed a small deception. I told Sasha the terrain was risky, crawling with wild predators, and that, as my loyal bodyguard, she was obligated to stay within arm's reach—preferably within hugging range.

It sounded ridiculous even to me. But to my satisfaction (and a tinge of guilt), it worked.

Yes, maybe it was petty, maybe a bit childish even. But happiness? It's always found in life's smallest schemes. We would huddle close in our winter tent, shielded from fierce arctic winds, the cold unable to penetrate our insulated refuge. Inside, the little tin stove glowed faintly. Most mornings, I would awaken with her arms around me. Whether or not she'd admit it, her body always sought warmth—and often, that warmth was found in me.

And I didn't protest. Quite the opposite: I treasured waking to Sasha's sleeping face beside mine. Her breathing, soft and even. Her hair a little wild from the night, but all the more beautiful for it.

We delved into conversation during these nights, far longer than necessary. Silent topics turned into open admission, little shared stories naturally morphed into long confessions. We learned things about each other we hadn't planned on revealing. Somewhere along the way, and without our even noticing, intimacy had woven its thread between us.

Even our training continued without compromise. In the morning, before venturing out, we'd spar for a few minutes—just to restore circulation, get moving, and test each other's reflexes. It became a gentle routine: wake, spar, eat, explore. Repeat.

And now, we rested again, sitting side by side in the tent once more under the curious eyes of the sky. The aurora soared above us like a blessing.

"Alex," Sasha said, her gaze never leaving the sky, "one should really never leave a girl alone with you for this long."

"Why not?" I asked, amused.

"Because you'll lasso the poor thing and reel her in. You're the type who wouldn't miss the perfect opportunity to make someone fall head over heels."

"Speaking from experience?" I smirked, slipping my arm around her side.

"Excuse me?" she said, turning slightly.

"I meant... are you in love with me?" I asked playfully. "Falling for your boss?"

"In your dreams," Sasha muttered, removing my arm. "Office romances aren't for me."

Still, words can't mask everything. I read something deeper in the way she touched me, looked at me—something careful, hesitant, but undeniably affectionate.

Sasha's love language is touch. She pours emotion through proximity—through accidental arm brushes, steadying hands, subtle pulls at my sleeve, prolonged hugs disguised as friendly comfort. Through touch, she speaks entire sentences she would never say aloud.

This language, full of texture and unspoken intensity, is complex. Touch conveys safety, desire, concern, even reverence. For people like Sasha, a day without touch is like a day without sunlight. Physicality confirms emotional reality. A held hand, a forehead kiss before parting, an arm wrapped around the waist while cooking—each moment reinforces an unvoiced "I care. I see you. I'm here."

For me, responding in kind became natural. I hadn't merely learned her language—I had come to speak it fluently. Over these last eight days, our connection had deepened into something that felt... permanent.

I leaned closer, planting a small kiss on her temple while she remained focused on the fluctuating lights above.

"Darling," I whispered, "that's all the courage I've got for one night. From now on, you're on your own."

"Leaving everything in the hands of a lady?" she asked coolly.

"I think... you can handle it—"

But I never finished that thought.

Her lips met mine mid-sentence: soft, uncertain, warm. I didn't hold back. The kiss deepened, grew bolder. My tongue brushed hers slowly, savoring every second. My fingers ran along her neck, caressing skin that was soft despite the cold.

Yes, we were buried under layers of thermal gear and fleece-lined coats—but such things are hardly an obstacle to love. With the tent sealed and the wind still howling outside, we gave in to everything that had built up quietly over the past days.

It was strange, passionate, delicate. There was something sacred about making love under the northern lights—a thousand cosmic eyes watching from the sky above. Fire in the sky, fire between us. The contrast of the cold blizzard just beyond the thin walls of the tent made everything more intense, more alive.

One of the hottest nights of my life, wrapped inside one of the coldest landscapes on Earth.

The all-terrain vehicle roared steadily across the snow, never veering off course. It was like the night before hadn't happened, but of course it had. The proof? The system message I received the moment I opened my eyes that morning:

+1 to King's Wife stat.

+1 to Endurance.

I stared at the notification for a long second before dismissing it with a chuckle. Not because I didn't appreciate it, but because—as strange as it sounds—I already felt rewarded.

But even as I relished the memory of Sasha's touch, something else crept into my mind: a feeling, an instinctual flicker. My eyes drifted outward again, scanning the landscape as far as it stretched, to where even Labrador Huskies hesitate to tread.

There's something out there.

At first, I didn't know what my sixth sense was alerting me to, but then it clicked almost instantly. In the Arctic lies more than Captain America's legendary crash site. There's another secret frozen in this land:

Superman's Fortress of Solitude.

A place hidden deep in ice and crystal—a sanctum of silence and Kryptonian technology. Alien weapons, artifacts, archives. Someday I'll go there. But not today. For now, the fortress is sealed to me.

Although... something doesn't sit right.

How is it that Superman, who must've flown over the Arctic hundreds of times, never found Captain Rogers encased in the ice? With X-ray vision, that should've been easy. Then again, I suppose even the Man of Steel avoids using it casually. After all, supervision causes him physical pain. He only invokes that power deliberately, sparingly. Most of the time, he sees like the rest of us.

I was halfway through that thought when my gut pulled me back to the now. I hit the brakes hard. The all-terrain vehicle groaned as it slowed to a complete stop.

"What happened?" Sasha asked, instantly alert.

"We're here," I said simply. "The Captain is close."

I wasted no time pulling out the detection device Bruce had prepared—a blocky piece of gear that could scan for living biology across three kilometers. I powered it up and held my breath.

Beep!

"There! That's the signal—he's here! We found him!" I shouted, turning to Sasha. "We did it!"

I hugged her tightly, unable to contain the relief.

"But... I still don't see anything," she replied, a little skeptical.

"Follow me."

We walked forward together. The wind bit at us, but I barely noticed it. After a kilometer and a half, I dropped to the ground. My gaze lowered. Carefully, I cleared snow from a patch of smooth, pale blue ice.

And there, beneath it—something was waiting.

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Thank you for your support.

You all can read extra chapters on [email protected]/annihilator009